


Fugitive of Fiction

by LuminariaOfTheStars



Series: The Reality Paradox [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Chases, Coping, Dystopia, Gen, MAJOR SPOILERS FOR DRV3 OKAY OKAY?, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Rebellion, Resistance group, Running Away, Swearing, Thriller Elements, finding yourself, first fanfic, no planned romance (yet), tags will be added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-08-05 22:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminariaOfTheStars/pseuds/LuminariaOfTheStars
Summary: "I did not sign up for all this."Her brother sacrificed himself so she and another participant could win, not knowing what the punishment is. Misaki Amami, now a winner of Danganronpa 52/V2, gradually uncovers the truth of the killing game that she won—a truth so harsh that it forces her to run.Now, she has to survive in a world that obsesses over death games while hiding from Team Danganronpa's prying eyes—all while being haunted by memories of the killing game and trying to find out who she was before signing up for a high-stakes reality show of death.Updates at a weekly cycle (hopefully). The update cycle may end up being random, depending on my writing mood.My Discord server: https://discord.gg/Z7ugA7x





	1. Viva Danganronpa

**Author's Note:**

> This was both a pain and a blast to write for a first fanfic. Constructive criticism would be appreciated.
> 
> Due to extreme ambiguities about the nature of Danganronpa V3's fiction twist, this fanfic would be based on my personal theories that I would clear up with notes. Since solid theories related to the game's ending is near-impossible to make, it would be a challenge to keep this story together.
> 
> So, to all reading this fanfic, have fun and happy reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misaki Amami awakens in a strange room peppered with Victorian-era design. Confused, she checks her surroundings and uncovers something.

**I** did not sign up for all this.

It's a rare sight to see a rich and famous lad or lass running around the cityscapes like a scared animal. That would soon become the rabbit hole that my life would end up jumping into. I remember that novel about a lawyer signing up for a law firm without knowing that the firm is a Mafia-controlled money laundering operation and is now forced to run for his life, and I'm afraid that roughly the same  _will_ happen to me soon enough.

The last thing that I remember is that me and my fellow survivor doing some cheesy motivational speech about hope. After that, sleeping gas and chemical-induced shuteye. What even is going on?

My eyes opened themselves and they were clouded with some TV static-esque blur at first, but they managed to boot up completely and see where the hell am I now. It was a Victorian-era bedroom; it looked like a first-class lodging in a cruise ship. My home had such kinds of bedrooms as far as I can remember (I'm an Amami, and of course we'd be pretty wealthy) since I got lost in a family trip and I was given shelter by a foster family, not knowing that my brother was searching even the most dangerous of places in the whole Earth to find me and my other sisters who got lost as well. He did "find" me at least, but in the worst way possible: in a killing game. Now, he had taken the route of sacrifice in order for me to survive and win with hope, and whatever it is, it doesn't sound good. Come on, Rantaro...

The bed felt really comfortable; it was like sleeping on top of the clouds. Sleeping on the clouds? You can't, because you'd just fall through and die a painful death when you violently crash on the ground. The bed sheets were wrinkled like an old man's face, considering that I toss and turn  _a lot_  in bed. The way the room looked like, it appeared to be so magnificently decorated that whomever designed this area was of Ultimate-level. I suddenly remembered that there was the late Ultimate Decorator in the sixteen of the killing game participants—counting me of course—who was the third victim. My mood suddenly soured as the image of his dead body was conjured by my imagination. _Too soon_ , I thought.

I left the bed yawning and observed the room. The windows were blocked and barricaded, as if they don't want to tell you either the time of day or what is this place and where is it even. The only way that I could still breathe easily is the air vent located at the ceiling. It's too high to reach, but even if I could, it seemed too small for a human being to climb into. A wooden bookshelf filled with books about forensic science stood at one side of the room beside another shelf filled with chemical bottles, with most of them that I recognize. There was also a mirror in the room, but I've preferred to not stare at my reflection. One, I look a bit too hideous; two, looking at a mirror after waking up may just be the most clichéd course of action someone would do.

There is a door that leads to whatever is outside the room. I walked toward the once again Victorian door and twisted the cold metallic knob counterclockwise, but surprise, it didn't move. It's locked.

"Is anybody there?" I cried out of desperation.

No response.

"Hello?"

No answer.

I felt like sleeping again hoping someone would let me out of here. However, before I even attempted to return to my bed, I noticed something stuffed in my uniform's pockets. I took out that something out of my pocket to reveal a piece of paper. There was writing sprawled on it, and the penmanship was so bad that I thought a chicken scratched over it in an attempt to write something down. I read the words slowly, attempting to decipher the badly written note. I felt like I have dyslexia because it was difficult to comprehend the poorly-handwritten letters. 

> _Within the walls of your lodgings_  
>  _are words hidden by a magic spell._  
>  _Only those who are bestowed upon that talent_  
>  _will be able to uncover these sacred writings._
> 
> _Puhuhuhu... Ahahahahahahaha!!!_  
>  _-M_

After a quick scan of the piece of paper, I recognized the writer of this note almost instantly. As far as I can remember, I did not have the note before I was thrown into this Victorian hell. I took quick glances at both the sealed-off window and the locked door, and without knowing it, I got an epiphany. What if I was put here on this situation purposefully, as if I was put into test? If so, what for, and who would even put me here?

I repeatedly let the words of the note echo back and forth inside my head. Words hidden by a magic spell. Those bestowed with that talent. Talent. Talent. Ultimate Talent. Ultimate Forensic Scientist. What would an Ultimate Forensic Scientist have that can uncover anything hidden from view? I let my mind process that question, until the time came when I got the answer.

"Eureka," I muttered.

As if I was about to shoot pepper spray at a serial killer's eyes, I swiftly reached for my waist pouch and took out a spray bottle labeled Luminol. I repeatedly shot the chemical at the walls, periodically flipping the light switch to test if there is a reaction. At the time I checked the wall beside the locked door for any faint glow, I immediately saw the "sacred writings" the paper mentioned. I concentrated on the graffiti-like writings glowing in the dark, reading through the words at a way faster pace for it isn't made with hideous penmanship.

_Viva Danganronpa!_ the so-called "sacred writings" read.

"Viva Danganronpa," I said as if to repeat the words and let it sink in. Viva Danganronpa. Viva Danganronpa. Long live Danganronpa. Long live Danganronpa.

What does this even mean? What the hell is Danganronpa? Geez, if someone could explain it to me right now...

Before I could even process what is the true purpose of the graffiti, a violent crashing sound echoed just beside my feet. I hastily turned the light back on, revealing a vent grate that fell into the hard floor. Judging by its position, it almost hit my head like the meteor that hit Chelyabinsk, Russia. Any closer and I'd get a bad concussion. I looked up the ceiling and saw the air vent opened. Did something, by chance, crawled through the air vent and opened it?

Suddenly, a mysterious yet oddly familiar voice emanated from the vent and into the room.

_"WELCOME TO THE VICTORY HOTEL!"_ it said.

"Who's there?" I asked in a surprised manner. Wait, Victory Hotel? So this place is called-

"An old friend, Misaki Amami," it said.

_It knew my name?!_ What's going on? "Would you please show up right now? I'd really like it if you weren't just some disembodied voice, so go ahead."

All of a sudden, something jumped out of the vent and fell face-first on the floor. A few seconds in and I instantly confirmed the voice's true identity. God, why didn't I realize it earlier?

It was Monokuma, the despair-loving teddy bear. He's supposed to be dead, isn't he? Then, why would he be here of all people?

" _O-OUCHGODDAMNIT!_ I didn't knew trying to jump off vents was _THIS_ painful!" he said, frustrated.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead, Monokuma? Why are you even here?" I asked in an attempt to lift the fog that my mind have been coated with. "You wrote that 'sacred writings', didn't you?"

"Puhuhuhuhu... Did you really think that I'd just be dead after every killing game season?" he said.

"Season? What... are you going on about?" It was confusing. I then noticed an armband at Monokuma's left arm, emblazoned with a strange logo along with the words **TEAM DANGANRONPA** below it. "What in the gods' name is Danganronpa?"

Monokuma managed to stand up despite such a decently high drop and gave off a smug smile. "Interesting, interesting, interesting! Do you really want to know all the facts, even if I may have to watch your face look like some despaired teenager? Which... I would _REALLY_ love to! Ahahahahahaha!"

I sat on the edge of the large and majestic bed. "Shut it. Just tell me that along with where my brother is! I don't care about despair; hope will always press on."

"Are you sure about that? Fine, as you wish." Monokuma then proceeded to glare at me. "However, that's not what I came for, so I take that back! I don't like throwing exposition at my dear Ultimates..."

"Then what did you come here for? Answer properly."

Monokuma cleared his throat. "Puhuhuhuhu... I'm told not to leak any important information to all the killing game participants right now, but lemme say ya this: you are a hero!"

"A-A hero? What are you talking about?" I asked. "Enlighten me with whatever you'd say."

"You've proven that even in the deepest and darkest of despairs, hope always wins. Oh, what a wonderful story so wonderful you deserve a hero's welcome parade... The audience would surely love it!"

"Audience?!"

"My lips are _SEALED_ , dammit! Well, at least for now considering that it's too early in the protocol, at least. Anyway, you've gotta prepare yourself for this exciting and once-in-a-lifetime experience!"

"When is this 'parade' even?" I asked in a passive-aggressive manner. "And what time is it?"

"Puhuhuhu... Tomorrow, so you've gotta prepare yourself! And according to my internal clock, it's about 7:00 a.m., so take your breakfast and enjoy your stay in this lovely hotel!" Monokuma did some tinkering on the door and unlocked the once-unopenable door of my room. He glanced at me and ran off outside like he challenges me to catch him if I can.

_"GET BACK HERE! I still want to ask you some more questions!"_ I cried out. I wanted to run and chase him, but part of me didn't want to do so for I don't want to get lost around this hotel and my body didn't have the energy to run. Frustrated, I left my room.

Exiting the room revealed a winding corridor in front of me. There was the Victorian decor, once again. I started my search of where this so-called hotel's dining hall is; thankfully there were wall signs that point to what I am seeking. I wanted to ask Monokuma a lot of questions. I wanted to learn where is my brother—or in a more colloquial manner, "onii-chan"—is. I remembered how he said that he isn't supposed to "leak important information". Why would he hide such facts from me? He also mentioned "seasons" and "audience" which were inconsistent with what I learned about the outside world during the killing game: ravaged from nuclear war where everyone struggled for survival. What _even_ is going on? Nothing made sense, nothing at all.

At last, I found a large double door labeled **DINING HALL**. I stepped forward, about to eat both the best and worst breakfast I had in my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the word count was pretty short. I was avoiding a Chapter One filled with extreme exposition instead of information being spread out across chapters.
> 
> Anyways, stay tuned for the next chapter!


	2. A Slideshow of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misaki enters the Victory Hotel's dining hall for breakfast, but a stream of horrendous memories haunt her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm REALLY sorry if this chapter took longer to write than usual. (I'm a procrastinator and I take my time when writing.) Writing this chapter was worth all the research I did about PTSD and garbage drafts of me trying to execute it properly. I also took time to research writing advice and did some clean-up on my writing style and grammar.
> 
> Just in case, I aged up the fanfic rating to Mature, but that may change.
> 
> Anyways, I present to you another chapter of Misaki's crazy story.

**A** s I expected thanks to this hotel's grandiose motif, the dining hall is reminiscent of something you'd see in a palace. A royal aura sprayed all over me in the face as I stepped into a room that is basically something where people of royal blood would eat. My running shoes whispered into the well-polished floor, subtly reverberating around the mess hall. A wooden round table stood at the center of Victory Hotel's dining hall, with exactly sixteen empty seats surrounding it. Sixteen seats, arranged in a circle...

My mood soured even further; my mind started to conjure images of the killing game. I've had this tiny lingering feeling of trauma since my awakening, but it only began to surface and worsen at the time I set foot into this luxurious area of the hotel. I walked toward the round table with my hands and feet going on a high-magnitude earthquake and I took a seat—with my eyes gradually staring into oblivion.

I did my best to remain in reality; I gave this room a quick observation. The Victorian architectural design remained consistent within the hotel; the people who built this place must be genius decorators. The windows were barricaded so any view outside would be blocked off, though faint streaks of sunlight still manage to pierce it through. A chandelier hung from the ceiling directly above the dining table like a corpse of a suicidal high school girl who succumbed into depression after hiding it with a cheerful and energetic persona for years. Its light bulbs emitted a white light that brightly shined the room. A fireplace—which seemed to be unlit for some time now—was situated to the left of the table. Ahead of the table was a picture frame that displayed a picture of me and my classmates—except all the fallen were crossed out with pink. My brother's face had an **S** written on it instead. What does it mean? Sacrifice?

When I saw the vandalized picture of all sixteen of us, I opened a deeper sinkhole for my sanity to fall into. I couldn't hold it back anymore; the bad memories just kept on flooding in. One by one, mental photographs of Monokuma's deadly game flashed right before my eyes like a slideshow. There was an image of a class trial in session with us forced to debate about who killed one of us, except every next image represents us going fewer and the amount of crossed-out picture frames increasing; the images of the victims—smashed in the head, stabbed twenty-eight times, poisoned during a normal everyday meal, and so on—who died in the hands of murderers; killers getting executed with deadly contraptions laced with dark comedy, with the most prominent image being the Ultimate Horror Novelist whose execution involved a medley of horror media in any shape or form; and the final trial that revealed the mastermind, especially the image of Rantaro being dragged away by Monokumas after he chose to sacrifice. My eyes stared further into the void; my point of view blurred. All the chaos that I felt manifested itself into an earth-shattering scream: _"STOP!!!"_

Nothing happened. It was too much; I can't handle the storm of bad memories. I was seeing the mangled corpses of all the fallen sitting in front of the round table, occupying thirteen chairs—but in reality, they're not there. My words on Monokuma earlier about hope always pressing on became a big fat lie. I stood up and slammed my fist to the table out of frustration, gripping my hurting head. We could've stopped the killings. We could've worked together to end the deadly game altogether before it even began. We could've—

The shrill creaking of doors was enough to startle me. I glanced to the opening door. "Who's there?" I asked with a noticeable frustration and anxiety.

"Did I hear Little Miss Heterochromia's voice? Breakfast is ready!" said the silhouette of whomever cranked open the doors. I instantly recognized him, carrying a tray with food covered by a lid. _That brat of an animatronic bear,_ I thought. Part of me never wanted to encounter him again as measure to avoid worsening my mental state.

"Get out. I don't need breakfast." I glared at Monokuma with my eyes—blue on the left and green on the right, though I actually just wore differently-colored contact lenses. No matter how much I tried to say anything else, my chaotic emotion just manifested itself into my mouth to say that.

"What's wrong, Misaki? Are you turning edgy for some reason, or are you just hungry? Puhuhuhuhu... I thought you never cared about despair and hope always pushed on..." he said.

_"I SAID GET OUT!"_ At that point, I've totally lost it. I wasn't my usual witty and sarcastic self, not because I was hungry according to that Snickers commercial, but due to the murderous game's grotesque and haunting images. Post-traumatic stress disorder.

Monokuma didn't care; he just kept on mocking me. "Oh, I think you've got good ol' war veteran syndrome and you're currently falling into despair, am I right? _AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!_ "

_"J-JUST SHUT UP!!!"_ Out of my extreme agitation, I robbed the round table of a chair and threw the stolen seat towards Monokuma. The bear dove to the right—carefully catching the tray of food before it lands on the floor—just before the chair slammed the ground.

He stood up, with his red thunderbolt-like eye firing a menacing glare at my eyes like a Flashback Light. "Oh, come on! I almost had you eat food from the floor! And aren't you supposed to _NOT_ harm me?" he said with a tone of a pissed-off madman.

"If you came here for my food, then just leave that tray here and leave me alone!" I exclaimed.

Passive-aggressively, Monokuma paced towards the table, jumped up on a chair, and set the tray of breakfast. I silently went near him and suddenly punched his glowing red eye, knocking him off the chair. He had trouble getting up; I might've hit a weak spot. I walked towards the knocked-down animatronic bear, itching to stomp him in the face.

" _MISAKI!_ I'll kill you if you don't stop with this! You know what happened to _him_ , don't you?"

My urges to crush him hit a roadblock. Just as I thought that I won't feel more horrendous than this, his words broke another record. Instantaneously, an image projected itself into my eyes like a jumpscare. The gory image of one of us—an Ultimate Skateboarder—screaming in agony as spears turned him into human barbecue-on-a-stick after he attempted to destroy Monokuma. The image of a torrential amount of blood leaking out of him as the big and thick spears impaled his body. I was about to stomp Monokuma, but the thought of Gungnir's sharp lances shooting out of nowhere and killing me held me back along with the sanity I have left. _"L-leave me alone!"_ I cried out. Anger turned into sadness; frustration turned into despondence. Tears started to gush down my face. Monokuma finally stood up and walked away with an immeasurable annoyance. I picked up the chair I threw and placed it back at its rightful place, then I sat down to eat whatever Monokuma had in store.

I uncovered the tray to reveal a rather simplistic choice of breakfast for a hotel of luxury—pancakes and tea. The pancakes were towered over each other, with sweet honey flowing from top to bottom like a waterfall. Although, the tea wasn't just any ordinary tea—I recognized it as Ceylon white tea, a high-quality variant of Ceylon tea with a significantly great price. I just stared at the food, slowly losing myself into a void of regrets. I don't need breakfast—no, I don't want breakfast. I was haunted by a sadistic bear's killing game.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps of someone walking into the dining room. I didn't even bother looking through my shoulder. "Leave me alone..." I said in a mix of emotions, but it's mostly sadness.

"Are you, um, alright Saki?" the voice said. I knew who was speaking immediately after I heard it. A feminine voice—which was a weird mix of the British and Japanese accents—which I recognized. Mitsuyo Robin, Ultimate Lucky Student and a close friend who survived alongside me.

Due to the person speaking, I looked behind. "It's not of your concern right now, Mitsu. I need some solitude." I said, wiping my eyes and sighing afterwards.

"But I'm told not to, well, eat breakfast anywhere else. You also look troubled, so I'd be concerned! C'mon, am I a joke to you?" she said. She was carrying a tray of food; she must've gotten breakfast by herself. Mitsuyo sat down next to me, laying her tray of food on the round table. She uncovered the lids, revealing breakfast similar to mine—pancakes and tea.

"Please, just eat and don't worry about me," I told her. "This is not your problem."

Mitsu, while eating, tilted her head in concern. "Are you sure? You seem to lack appetite." The food in her mouth muffled whatever she was saying. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so eat up!"

"This is yours now..." I pushed my breakfast tray toward her. "What's going on with me?"

She pushed the tray back to its original position. The tea sloshed back and forth due to the force, spilling a few drops. "I ain't making myself a fatty, Saki! And I ain't letting you become a stick!"

"..." I said nothing.

"Also, did you just say something? Like about what's going on with you?"

"Stop touching the subject—"

"C'mon, Saki! Staying silent about it will just make you worse. Also, your actions already say a lot."

"Mitsu..." I felt lost, without idea on what should I do. I continued to stare at my breakfast, trying to force myself to eat. I cut part of the pancakes with a spoon then ate it. It was quite delicious, actually. I also tried to sip some of the tea, which really tasted good. I used the breakfast as an opportunity to vent some—if not all—of the debilitating emotions that stemmed from my trauma episode. It wasn't an effective approach, but it at least calmed me to some extent—yet I still don't want to talk. I wasn't telling anyone about my mental issues—not even my best friend.

The dining hall was tinted with a ghostly silence, except for the clattering of silverware against plates and the noisy chewing sounds of Mitsu. We spent the next few minutes not talking to each other, though with occasional blank stares. I shouldn't be hiding secrets, but it's better if I stayed silent for attempting conversation about _it_ will just result in another wave of flashbacks. Finally, we were finished with breakfast.

_Ding dong, bing bong!_

Out of nowhere, what I assume is the hotel intercom sounded. The jingle was something I didn't expect to and didn't want to hear again thanks to the killing game. A voice then followed.

"MIKE CHECK, BITCHES. CAN YOU HEAR ME? OH, IT ACTUALLY WORKED FOR THE FIRST FUCKING TIME! THIS IS MARKUS ROBERTS OF TEAM DANGANRONPA. IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, BEAUTIES—THEN HEAD TO THE VICTORY HOTEL BALLROOM FOR SOME ANNOUNCEMENT SHIT. NOW, GET LOST!" the voice spoke. Does he not know about indoor voice? He's an arrogant man based on how he spoke.

Me and Mitsu immediately thought it's an urgent announcement, so we ran off the dining room without even thinking about cleaning the dishes. The hallways of Victory Hotel still felt like a maze to me, for it's just been roughly an hour or two since my awakening. Our shoes wailed as they repeatedly stomped on the rock-hard floor. We did a mad dash that is pretty much a tour of the vast hotel, and after about three minutes of search—we were there. The large double doors had a gold-colored nameplate engraved with the word **BALLROOM**. We opened the doors and set foot into whatever was inside.

 

The spacious ballroom stayed true to the Victorian interior design this hotel exhibited. Rows of chandeliers hung high up from the greatly elevated ceiling. The floor was well-polished; you can almost see a clear reflection. The windows weren't barred unlike the ones in my room and in the dining hall. Pairs of Monokuma units dressed in formal outfits—dancing like someone would in a ballroom—are scattered all over, with waltz music playing on the background. I suddenly averted my eyes for a few seconds as if I don't want to be reminded of _it_ again. At the center of the ballroom was a figure of a person that was hard to recognize due to distance. We slowly approached toward him; we assumed he was Markus Roberts.

Looking at it, he was a tall and muscular man at his early thirties. When I looked at his brown eyes, I jokingly thought that someone might've spilled chocolate on them. Brown skin enveloped his face—not too light but not too dark. His black hair had bangs that covered the upper half of his left eye. He wore khaki pants a uniform that reminded me of a common male Japanese high schooler uniform, with his left arm having an armband similar with the one that Monokuma had—it had a logo labeled **Team Danganronpa** , which signified that he may be part of it. A question still remains—what the hell _is_ Team Danganronpa?

"OH, Y'ALL ARE HERE. AND YOU QUITE STINK. GO TAKE A FUCKING SHOWER AFTER THIS!" Markus said. He was partly right; we haven't showered yet.

"Great, I can't hear anything. Make it louder," I said sarcastically.

"We can hear ya just fine, c'mon! Weren't ya taught indoor and outdoor voice?" Mitsu said in a gung-ho cadence.

Markus tipped his bangs and smirked. "WHY DO YOU EVEN CARE? SERIOUSLY, JUST FUCKING LISTEN TO WHAT I'M ANNOUNCING."

"Then say it. We're all ears." I scratched the back my head.

Markus began his explanation. "SO, LEMME START WITH RANTARO AMAMI. YES, THE BROTHER OF LUMINOL BITCH MISAKI AMAMI RIGHT THERE. GOOD NEWS FIRST OR BAD NEWS?"

His remarks annoyed me, but I was able to hide it. "As usual, good news," I said.

"GOOD NEWS, HE'S JUST FINE. HE AIN'T A GODDAMN DEAD BITCH. YOU BOTH CAN DO ANYTHING AS USUAL, AND I HOPE IT'S NOT BUYING A FUCKING TICKET TO THE US STATE OF ALABAMA AND DOING _THAT_. BAD NEWS THOUGH, YOU CAN'T DO THAT RIGHT NOW SINCE WE PUT HIM IN AN INACCESSIBLE AREA SEPARATE FROM HERE AND YOU CAN'T CONTACT EACH OTHER. HE SACRIFICED HIMSELF, RIGHT? THE AUDIENCE WERE SHOCKED WHEN HE DID THAT FOR HIS SISTER."

"Audience? Hey, explain that right now! Ain't the world supposed to be a perfect setting for a Fallout game? And who'd even watch our suffering for entertainment?" Mitsu asked, confused.

"THE TRUTH IS, IT ISN'T. THE WORLD'S ACTUALLY FINE. YOU'RE JUST BEING BITCHED AROUND BY THE GAME," Markus said in a firm tone, though still loud.

"Are you serious? Nothing makes absolute sense now, so clear everything up," I said, playing with my hair.

"REMEMBER MONOKUMA TELLING YOU BOTH THAT YOU'RE FUCKING HEROES OF HOPE AFTER COMPLETING THE PUZZLES IN YOUR ROOMS? GOOD. DO YOU ALSO REMEMBER THE WHOLE PARADE BULLSHIT? GREAT. THIS MAY SOUND REALLY FUCKING INSANE, BUT THAT WAY, THINGS WOULD MAKE SENSE."

"Say it."

"Y'ALL SIGNED UP FOR THIS KILLING GAME, AND YOU FUCKING WON." Markus snapped his fingers and all the music and dance stopped. "CONGRATULATIONS TO MISS MISAKI AMAMI AND MISS MITSUYO ROBIN FOR WINNING DANGANRONPA 52: DESPAIR SOLITAIRE."

The dancing Monokumas around the room clapped. I couldn't make it out, but I felt there was something ominous within it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Misaki described her "heterochromia" is by her perspective. It means that she described the different eye colors through her own POV—left referring to *her* left, and right referring to *her* right.
> 
> P.S. I had two of my Discord friends to do a DR-style pixel sprite and a DR sprite of Misaki Amami, respectively. Check back some time later if you want to check them out!
> 
> As usual, see ya in the next chapter!


	3. Absolute Despair Hotel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Sorry for the long 3-week delay. School kind of ate up my schedule, so this chapter may seem rushed.
> 
> I present to you Chapter 3.

" **W** hat the hell is this?!"

Those were the words that escaped from my mouth after Markus's congratulatory remarks and the ominous clapping. My mind went absolute zero in an attempt to process what he said. I glanced at Mitsu—who was also shocked like I was—and noticed her fists clenching. Her expression went from shock to anger.

"Congratulations to us?" Mitsu spoke in increasing rage. "Are you saying we all signed up for this?!"

"SIMMER DOWN, RNG QUEEN! YES, I'M TELLING THE FUCKING TRUTH. ALTHOUGH, YOU CAN'T REMEMBER THAT FACT FOR REASONS I'LL SAVE FOR LATER. SHOW PROTOCOL SAYS THAT," Markus said, still as arrogant as ever.

"Even if we may not remember that, assuming you aren't lying, we'd never do something like join a death game!" I saw Mitsu becoming more infuriated every second. Her sky blue eyes had their gaze fixated at the man that would easily fill a swear jar with money in one day.

"I EXPECTED THAT YOU'D BE SHOCKED AS FUCK AFTER I TOLD YOU BITCHES ABOUT SUCH SHIT. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPY FOR THIS. YOU FUCKING OUTLIVED THIRTEEN OTHERS—NOT COUNTING RANTARO FOR CERTAIN REASONS—AND WON! YOU ALSO RESERVE THE RIGHT TO A PARADE!"

I suddenly asked, "I thought your reveal would explain things, but it just raised more questions—"

"I KNOW I'M NOT MAKING ANY FUCKING SENSE, BUT I'M NOT LYING. ALTHOUGH, I THINK I HAVE A WAY SO Y'ALL BITCHES CAN GET ME."

"A way?" Mitsu asked.  
  
Markus breathed in and did a signal. A Monokuma climbed up his body and rested on his left shoulder. "I SAID SOMETHING ABOUT YOU BEING BITCHED AROUND BY THE KILLING GAME, RIGHT? Y'KNOW, THE WHOLE FALLOUT BULLSHIT?"

"And what of it? Tell me!" My best friend cried out. She was both confused and enraged, with both fists tightly clenched and her right foot one step forward—as if she was going to punch Markus.

"NOW, WE'RE TALKING ABOUT THE 'HOW' OF THIS CRAP. IN WHAT METHOD DID YOU FUCKS GET BITCHED AROUND BY THE KILLING GAME IN A WAY THAT YOU THOUGHT THE WORLD WENT TO SHIT?"

How? That was the question Markus was asking us. I closed my eyes and I began checking the drawers of my memory bank for such information—careful not to trigger any bad memories. Letters began flying in front of my eyes, with me attempting to scour the correct letters to form the answer. It took me about fifteen seconds until something popped out. What I answered revealed a fact, a fact that is both plausible—and disturbing.

"You mean the Flashback Lights?" I said.

"YES, YES, EMA SKYE. THOSE FLASHBACK LIGHTS? THEY DIDN'T MAKE YOU REMEMBER SHIT. THEY JUST INSTALLED FAKE MEMORIES THAT YOU THOUGHT WERE REAL. THAT'S JUST HOW IT FUCKING WORKS," Markus said.

"Fake memories?!" Mitsu said, with her eyes fixated to the man. "It just makes less sense!"

"SILENCE!" Markus shouted.

The deep, loud shout reverberated throughout the room. Markus did a signal, then the Monokumas stood behind him in neat rows, like Markus was an army general with Monokuma soldiers. No one spoke a word; the silence order and the rows of Monokumas intimidated both me and Mitsuyo. After that, the sailor-mouthed man decided that the silence was too deafening, so he began explaining stuff that didn't display even a ghost of credibility.

"I MEAN, IT'S PART OF THE FUCKING PLOTLINE. EVERY SEASON NEEDS TO FOLLOW SOME SORT OF STORY, Y'KNOW? FOR THIS TIME, IT'S NUCLEAR BULLSHIT," he said.

I fixated my gaze at Markus. "So now this killing game is a reality show?"

"YES, AND Y'ALL SHITS SIGNED UP FOR IT AND BOTH OF YOU WON YOUR ASSES OFF. BUT, ONCE AGAIN, YOU DON'T REMEMBER IT—AT LEAST IN YOUR CURRENT STATES."

"I swear I _understand_  every word you're saying," I told him sarcastically.

"STILL IN DENIAL, HUH? OKAY, I APOLOGIZE IF MY EXPLANATIONS LOOK SHIT. IT'S A FUCKING HARD JOB TO EXPLAIN STUFF."

"Assuming you're good at giving explanations."

"TCH. NOW, LISTEN UP! AS YOU BITCHES FIGURED OUT, THE FLASHBACK LIGHTS GAVE YOU FAKE MEMORIES. IT MADE YOU THINK THE WORLD FUCKING BROKE. LOOK AT THE WINDOWS AND YOU'LL SEE HOW MUCH OF A FUCKING LIE IT IS."

Me and Mitsu slowly walked toward the gigantic windows of the ballroom and peeked. He wasn't lying.

Judging by how small the ground looked like from the windows, I estimated that we were in the fifth or sixth floor. There was a parking lot visible from my vantage point, with cars emblazoned with what I assumed was the Team Danganronpa logo plowing through the asphalt as they slowly came. They were very few; I imagined the Victory Hotel was a secluded, hardly accessible building. My eyes slowly traced the road on which the cars drive to—it was a long stretch of curvy road on a slope that goes lower and lower in the distance. Was this place built on a mountain, I wonder? I was correct with that, since from a decent distance you could see a rather great mountain view. We walked back towards Markus, who continues his nonsense rambling—or what would then be rambling that we took for granted.

"AS I CONFIRMED, YOU'RE ON A FUCKING REALITY SHOW! WE'VE GAINED SO MUCH WORLDWIDE APPEAL THAT WE'VE REACHED SEASON 52 OF DANGANRONPA!"

"..."

We fell silent and confused, as if we were listening a drunk man go on a long rant about a corrupt politician ruining everything. When Markus mentioned Danganronpa, I remembered the luminol graffiti in my room. So Danganronpa meant the deadly reality show we were apparently put in? Then Team Danganronpa is actually an—

"WHY SO GODDAMN SILENT? ARE YOU ON SHOCK, OR JUST ON DENIAL? WELL, WE FOLKS AT TEAM DANGANRONPA EXPECT THIS FUCKING REACTION WHILE WE EXPLAIN THIS SHIT TO WINNING PARTICIPANTS. BESIDES, YOU DON'T EVEN REMEMBER JOINING, FOR ONE REASON."

"Team Danganronpa?" Mitsu asked.

"TEAM DANGANRONPA, THE PRODUCTION TEAM BEHIND THE WORLDWIDE PHENOMENON OF DANGANRONPA! IF YOU PAID ATTENTION, YOU'D KNOW THAT I'M PART OF THEM!"

Mitsu's infuriation was getting more noticeable. "And what is this 'one reason' you speak of?"

"WE'RE NOT TELLING, BITCH! IT'S TOO EARLY IN THE PROTOCOL. BUT LET'S JUST SAY YOU DON'T HAVE MEMORIES OF JOINING. THANKS TO OUR CUTTING-EDGE MEMORY MANIPULATION TECHNOLOGY, WE OVERWRITTEN YOUR MEMORIES, WHETHER IT'S ABOUT JOINING DANGANRONPA OR ANY OTHER MEMORIES RELATED TO IT. KIND OF ADDS TO THE DRAMA OF THE SHOW; IN YOUR MINDS, DANGANRONPA DIDN'T EXIST."

Due to how serious he spoke, my denial was gradually replaced by an unsettling, cat-slaying curiosity. "Continue. And why aren't you telling us the exact info?" I asked.

"SHOW PROTOCOL, AS I FUCKING SAID. AS A TEAM DANGANRONPA EMPLOYEE WORKING AS A GUIDE TO DANGANRONPA VICTORS, WE FOLLOW A STRICT PROTOCOL. WAKE-UP CALLS, CALL TIMES, ANNOUNCEMENTS, AND THE LIKE.

"BACK TO THE MEMORIES. AFTER THE MEMORY WIPE, YOU WERE ALL BROUGHT TO THE LAS VEGAS REPLICA 'BUNKER'—WHICH, SURPRISE, WAS JUST A FUCKING BIG STAGE! THEN, WE WENT FROM THERE TO HANDLE SHIT ABOUT THE SHOW. LIKE, ALL THE FAKE MEMORIES AND SUCH."

I scratched my head. "So...what would _he_  have to do with this? He, as in the mastermind?"

"THE MASTERMIND, HUH? THAT ULTIMATE SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGIST WHO, ACCORDING TO THE PLOTLINE, BROKE INTO THE BUNKER PROJECT AND STAGED THE GAME? OH, WE LOVE THAT PART. EVERYONE OF YOU HAD LOST MEMORY OF JOINING—EXCEPT ONE. _HE_  WAS REALLY HAPPY TO BE GIVEN THE PRIVILEGE TO PLAY THE MASTERMIND. BASICALLY, HE STILL HAD MEMORY OF JOINING. HE HAD SUPER SECRET CONTACT WITH THE STAFF, AND HE KNEW EVERYTHING THAT WOULD PLAY OUT BEFOREHAND RELATED TO THE PLOTLINE. IN OTHER WORDS, HE KNEW FUCKING MORE THAN WHAT Y'ALL DID."

My mood soured, since I touched a topic that would cause _it_  to return again. "This is just outright sadistic. What kind of world would run this?"

Markus smirked. "YOU'RE ONCE PART OF THAT WORLD AS WELL—A WORLD THAT FOUND WORLD PEACE WITH DESPAIR-INDUCING ENTERTAINMENT! WOULDN'T IT MAKE GODDAMN SENSE THAT YOU'D WANT TO JOIN DANGANRONPA? AND YOU FUCKING WON! CONGRATULATIONS! OH, AND ONE FINAL THING."

Mitsu suddenly exclaimed, "W-wake me up from this nightmare already!" It wasn't her to say that; she was definitely losing it.

"WHAT KIND OF COMPETITION DOESN'T HAVE PRIZES? YES, PRIZES, MOTHERFUCKERS. TEN MILLION DOLLARS, CELEBRITY STATUS, A MANSION FOR YOU AND YOUR FAMILY, AND ANY FUCKING THING YOU COULD EVER IMAGINE! WOULDN'T YOU WANT THAT? Y'ALL ARE FUCKING LUCKY, MAN—"

"Damn you and your reality show!"

Mitsu lunged forward Markus in a fit of extreme rage, jabbing and hitting his left eye—the one covered with bangs in the upper half. The force of the punch made Markus flinch, but he stood his ground. Despite being just a randomly-drawn average student that got Ultimate status, she was good with fighting with bare hands. I rushed toward her and tried to grab her left arm to pull her away from Markus, but she impulsively nudged her left elbow against my body, pushing me backward. Despite Mitsuyo's fighting skill, Markus overpowered her and grabbed her by the neck, then throwing her down, causing her to sliding on the floor. The Monokumas then rushed toward Mitsu, formed a circle around her and drew out their claws in a threatening fashion. She lay down on the floor with her back rested on it, unable to stand up due to the threat surrounding her.

"MITSUYO ROBIN, CALM YOUR FUCKING BIG TITS. YOU WANTED THIS GAME, YET YOU THEN REGRET IT? KIDS THESE FUCKING DAYS, WINNING A KILLING GAME THEN GOING NUTS!" Markus said in an intimidating fashion.

"How would I calm down? We suffered! Then you'd say that we had the guts to sign up for this?"

His mood shifted. "ACTUALLY, I LOVE THIS REACTION. YOU DON'T HAPPEN TO BE FALLING INTO DESPAIR, DO YOU? AHH, THE HALLMARK OF DANGANRONPA."

"What despair? Stop toying with us!"

"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT MAN. ANY GODDAMN VIOLENCE AGAINST TEAM DANGANRONPA EMPLOYEES AGAIN AND I'LL THROW YOU INTO THE SLAMMER. FUCK YOU, THAT'S WHY."

I saw Mitsu itching to rush forward and punch Markus, but she was being subdued by the Monokumas around her. To avoid any further issues, I intervened.

"Mitsu, it's better if you calm down and think it through instead of letting emotions take you over. And Markus, I swear you're hiding something." That was a bad attempt at bluffing, but I thought it might work. I've bluffed to murder suspects several times before in my line of work, and it kind of worked well. Maybe about 65% of the time.

"HIDING SOMETHING? OH, FOR THE LOVE OF MONOKUMA! WE AREN'T FUCKING HIDING THINGS. WE ONLY TELL THE TRUTH AND ONLY THE TRUTH."

"Then why the show protocol? Why did you say something about not telling us the reason for having no memory of joining?" I asked. "You _totally_  didn't make up false info on the spot regarding the memories. Are you not telling us the _true_  reason because we're being recorded right now and you want to test how we'd react if you then told us about that?"

"TRANSMISSION'S ALREADY CUT. THE SHOW'S OVER. THE ONLY OTHER THING WE'D BROADCAST IS THE AWARDING CEREMONY AND THE FUCKING PARADE. OTHER THAN THAT, YOU ASSES AREN'T LIVE TO THE WORLD RIGHT NOW, AND WE AREN'T TELLING YOU ALL THE FACTS IN ONE SINGLE GO JUST BECAUSE WE WANT FUCKING REACTIONS. YOU JUST AREN'T THAT USED TO THIS PLACE YET THAT YOU'D PROPERLY DIGEST INFO WE GIVE YOU. SPEAKING OF WHICH, GO GIVE YOURSELF A FUCKING TOUR. YES, I MEANT YOU YOURSELF. NO GUIDES, SINCE MITSUYO ACTED VIOLENT."

Mitsu, still too intimidated to stand up, glared at Markus. I sighed, knowing how stupid is the notion of one's actions also punishing others instead of only the guilty party getting the punishment. Sure, I can't really blame my friend due to how horrendous the truths we learned—assuming they really were truths. However, friendship doesn't mean I can't criticize her for not working on her anger management more.

"DISMISSED, MOTHERFUCKERS. NOW SCRAM!" said Markus, giving one final angry look before retreating. The Monokumas marched on single file behind Markus, including those who threatened Mitsu which I saw running off as soon as Markus told us to scram. Mitsuyo stood up in frustration and slowly walked towards the door—the same door we used to enter and the same door Markus used to leave. I followed soon after.

 

Most of the time we spent before lunch was spent in giving ourselves a tour of the hotel. The winding hallways were hard to get used to, but we managed to adapt to them somehow. There were a few other Team Danganronpa employees in the hotel now, which was a difference compared to the dead silence of the hallways earlier when I managed to leave my room for the first time.

Other than the dining hall, the ballroom and the rooms that were provided for us, the current floor we are on has a sauna, a hot spring and a game room—all consistent with the Victorian design. Yes, I said the current floor, since we have no way to leave the floor we are on. We once saw a large, mechanical door labeled **STAIRS AND ELEVATORS** —and we have no way to open it. There was a glowing blue fingerprint scanner on the wall next to the door labeled **TEAM DANGANRONPA EMPLOYEES ONLY**. We tried to use the scanner, but it just proved that the sign wasn't lying. The door then opened a few moments later and an employee walked in from behind the door. Mitsu tried sneaking past the door while it's still open, but the woman suddenly grabbed her left arm.

"Don't even think about it," she told Mitsu.

We continued to explore the floor for anything of importance. After we finished searching every nook and cranny of this floor, we parted ways for some time alone. Mitsu went to the hot spring, while I went to my room.

While I was sitting on my bed and gathering my thoughts, a Monokuma snuck into my room, carrying what looks like a Monopad and a webcam. That made me thinking—where was my Monopad? With that in mind, I checked both my person and the whole room, but I found nothing.

I wanted to shoo the bear away, but it seemed that he was carrying something important for me. After laying both objects down a desk, he ran off and slammed the door with the force of a thousand suns.

I observed the Monopad carefully. It was colored black, and a logo of a red thunderbolt—no, Monokuma's left eye was on the back of the tablet. There were no front or back cameras on the Monopad, which would explain the webcam that came with it. There was a power button on one side of the tablet which I pressed, causing the Monopad's screen to turn on and display the Team Danganronpa logo. There were no icons or buttons displayed, except a Call button. I imagined the Monopad's function is only for calls.

I touched the icon, and a menu displayed, which was a list of contacts. There was only one contact in the tablet though—Rantaro Amami. A mix of relief and confusion struck me.

The Monopad and webcam contradicts what Markus said earlier. According to him, we can't contact each other, but then later a Monokuma hands me something that's literally a way to contact my brother. What is going on? While overtaken with mixed feelings, I called Rantaro.

But nobody came.

I tried for a second time; I hoped someone would answer. There still was no response. I did a third attempt, since third time's the charm. Nothing. Attempts piled up, until I gave up at the thirteenth call. I walked out my room and murdered time at the game room for a few hours until the bell rang. It was lunch, apparently.

 

I was lucky that I was never served an attack of shell shock for lunch, but the anxiety and dread was still there. The vandalized class picture was still there, which I tried to avert my eyes from as much as possible. Mitsu caught me staring at my food, and I thank her for that. If she didn't call me out for challenging my lunch to a staring contest, I'd end up throwing chairs again. While eating, we talked.

"Mitsu, I know you'd feel really angry from Markus being. . .Markus, but I swear that's just over-the-top." _Says the one who attempted to destroy a Monokuma,_ I thought.

"Well, Saki, let's just say I couldn't really help it. I have my limits too, y'know?"

"That doesn't excuse you from punching staff of some company that claims to run an actual death game." I scratched my head. "Heck, we don't even know if this Team Danganronpa thing is telling the truth."

"Those scoundrels, huh? I won't forgive them."

"I wouldn't as well. They treat us like toys, then air our suffering on television. Assuming we _did_ sign up for this, it just gets worse."

Mitsu thought for a while then spoke. "So, what are we gonna do now, Saki?"

"Let's wait it out and go play along with this whole 'show protocol' thing. Maybe we'd be able to sort things out."

"If that's the best thing we could do, then we should! We could at least hope for new information about our situation."

"New information, assuming Team Danganronpa is telling the truth?" I still had distrust over them, and I took their words with grains and grains of salt.

"Saki, no need to be distrustful. That won't get you anywhere. Is something bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me. This isn't your problem." That was a big fat lie.

Mitsu was concerned. "Please. Bottling it up makes you feel worse."

"I repeat, I don't want to talk about it. Especially since bringing it up would just worsen things for me."

"Huh?"

For a moment, I was silent; however I decided to break it. "Okay, fine, fine. This is the only time you'll hear this from me, and if you bug me again, you'll just anger me. Listen carefully."

"I'm all ears."

"I never knew I had to talk to you about this, and I shouldn't even be doing this. To put it simply, I'm having flashbacks, but it's not just plain old flashbacks. It's horrendous images from the killing game, and they keep on haunting me. In fact, I've had one earlier breakfast before you came. Everyone who died, everything that happened—they flash before my eyes and infest my mind. I'm actually feeling exasperated just by bringing this up. It feels like I'd have another attack of it."

Mitsu never said a word for a moment.

"So, you should understand it now."

"I get it now. I apologize if I...uh, bugged you and annoyed you for it. I knew you had even a shard of guts to tell me that."

"It's fine."

"I don't know how I could help you with this, but the past is already past. Sure, it would haunt you from time to time, but it already happened. It won't harm anyone anymore."

"...I'll try to keep that in mind."

We continued eating lunch, with some bits of small talk in-between. We finished, cleaned up after ourselves and returned to our respective rooms.

 

As I entered the room, I heard a [blaring and ear-shattering noise emanating from the Monopad](https://youtu.be/4nmWZpiWfzQ), which was possibly receiving an incoming call. I examined the blaring tablet, whose display was turned on and displaying the name **Rantaro Amami**. There were also two buttons for answering and ignoring the call. I instantly pressed the call button without even thinking.

The screen went black for a moment, until an image appeared. There was Rantaro sitting on a chair with a backdrop of what looks like a burning city behind him. He sighed in relief.

"Oh, it's you again," my brother said.

Instead of being relieved from seeing Rantaro safe, I ironically felt worse. My mind warped and an image from the killing game followed—the image of him choosing the radical decision to sacrifice. My head began to hurt once again and I looked down in frustration. _Goddamn it!_

Rantaro asked in concern, "Are you okay, sis? This doesn't seem to be you as usual."

"I'm fine..." I lied, trying to hide the fact that I'm having another attack of shell shock.

"Are you sure? Your actions say otherwise."

"Just don't mind me. I'm going to be okay."

"Try relaxing yourself. Take a bath, meditate or something," Rantaro said. "Anyway, I shouldn't be wasting time. This is important, so listen."

"What is it?" I was struggling to get my bearings.

"First of all, we aren't even supposed to have contact with each other from the beginning. I only got special permission to check up on you, so this call may be cut off at any time."

"Makes sense. I was told that we can't contact each other earlier, but that's just outdated information now."

"There is also a chance that _they_ are recording this call right now and they might take away this privilege from me if they catch me giving you too much sensitive information, so I'll be careful in what I'm saying. Don't tell anyone that we had this call, not even Mitsuyo. Do you understand me?"

"..."

"I'll take that as a yes. Calm yourself down after this call, sis."

"Go ahead."

Rantaro bent over near the camera while sitting on his chair. "First of all, did they inform you of this killing game's true nature as a reality show?"

"Yes, they did tell me that."

"Assuming they were telling the truth, that changes...a lot of things. Especially for my fate as a sacrifice." In the way that he said the word _sacrifice_ , dread struck me.

"Fate...?" My flashbacks were becoming more difficult to bottle up, and I started to feel way more horrendous.

"Correct. As part of this twisted game, being a sacrifice is easier said than done. If you choose this path, you'll have to repeat your suffering all over again. That's what apparently happened to one of us—the girl whose talent we never knew."

The girl whose talent we never knew. One of us seems to have forgotten the Ultimate talent bestowed upon her—and we still never knew it up until this day. We never got to enter to her Ultimate Lab, since it became accessible after her death. Any Ultimate Labs—whose owners have died—that are supposed to open after a trial are forever locked, and trying to force them open breaks the rules.

"'Repeat your suffering all over again'? What do you mean?"

"I was told about the secret behind her. She was in the previous killing game, and she chose the path of sacrifice. Next season, she reappears with no memory of the past game and suffers again, leading to her demise. That is what my future seems to be right now."

"What?!" I was in total shock. The champagne bottle containing the emotions I was suppressing burst open. image of my brother announcing his intention to sacrifice became horrifically vivid. It warped and twisted, and the flashback turned into bloody images of the many ways Rantaro would get killed.

"Her talent is actually the Ultimate Survivor, a title of someone who sacrificed their life for the victory of others. And that would soon be my talent as we—"

The video call was cut off. The apparitions in the form of photographs kept flashing. In a fit of rage, I slammed the Monopad on the desk and then stared at thin air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The backdrop in Rantaro's video call is pretty much the same backdrop used in the Survivor Perk video message, if you figured it out.
> 
> Writing the Markus announcement is trouble, but at least it was a blast in the later parts of this chapter.
> 
> I may release the next chapter earlier to compensate with the delay. I may also shorten the schedule.
> 
> See ya in the next chapter!


	4. The Horse King's Small Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's Chapter 4 released. I could've released this earlier, but writer's block and school said hello.
> 
> Hopefully though, I'll have Christmas break next week, so I'll have more time to write chapters and actually have a consistent release schedule.
> 
> Enough banter, let's begin by telling the story on the eyes of a DRV3 participant's past self...

**I** f I were to rate this world, I'd give it eleven over ten.

...if that wasn't a lie. Good job, Team Danganronpa.

I'd love to pay millions of dollars—yen, rather—to send me into a world where all this whole shebang happening around me didn't exist. Of course, any sane person would wish that if they imagined themselves on my shoes. The worst thing here, however, is that sane people like me are basically extinct or just forced into hiding. Forced into hiding? I'll explain.

I sat on the chair in front of my desk, listening to Happy Together by The Turtles and chugging a bottle of Grape Fanta. (I could've sworn it's spelled as Panta back then. And you should go to hell if you say that I teleported between universes.) A calendar hung at a corner of my room just above my bed—with the first nineteen days of August crossed out. It was a Monday.

My headphones muffled the sound of engines zipping along the road. The symphony of vehicles ranges from the eerily calming hum of cars to the ear-shredding revving of motorcycles at lightspeed. Seriously, those biker gangs are LOUD. How many speeding tickets do they have in their collection? They're going to the Guinness World Records next year, I swear to all the gods humanity believed in within our history.

I tapped the power button of my phone and flashed a glance at the time—1:30 PM sharp. (Yeah, as sharp as a yandere's knife.) Before you suddenly complain that I should be in school right now instead of chugging carbonated drinks, it's summer break, okay? Disaster averted. The bad news is school resumes next week and I procrastinated all the vacation homework they gave me. I felt like panicking right now.

I observed my room to appreciate how orderly everything are—wait, no—I mean how much of a mess my lodging was. The bed was wrinkly like my old neighbor's face. Clothes and papers were scattered around, as if someone used my room as a cockfight arena. The pillows weren't on their beds—such mess actually made me slide to the floor after I woke up earlier. A copy of the novel The Fault in our Stars lay face-first on the floor, opened. A mask of a horse head wearing a crown (it was a joke birthday gift from a friend who made use of the fact that my surname meant "king horse") was knocked down from the desk it was supposed to be on. I really wanted to fix all the clutter up, but I never found motivation to do so. Either I'll just make stuff worse, or I do get to restore order inside my room—except I'll end up bringing back destruction minutes later. Smells like a deadbeat teenager.

I sipped my drink with the force of a vacuum cleaner. The drink was rather refreshing as always, and the taste made me forget how mentally retarded this world is even for a second.

I despise homework with a passion, which may or may not justify my procrastination. However, there is one thing I hate above everything else. Hate, as in I REALLY hate it. This burning anger I have for _it_ is extremely dangerous in the world I live in. If I ever try displaying that I despise _that_ , I might as well should be writing my last will and testament right now. So, what the hell is _it_? It'd be quite easy to figure out.

Since the motivation for actually doing anything actually productive wasn't there, I procrastinated further by looking at my phone and opening Harmony, an app that allows you to create free and secure group chats for families, classes, companies and the like. I peeked at the group chat of my classmates, and here's a quick snippet of the conversation right now:

> **CherryBlossomQueen** : Misaki and Mitsuyo won season fifty-two, oh man
> 
> **thats_a_lotta_damage** : love that part when Rantaro sacrificed himself for his sister to win XD
> 
> **xX_bL@Ck_D€4tH_Xx** : I fucking swear to god Rantaro is a siscon
> 
> **xX_bL@Ck_D€4tH_Xx** : His sisters are basically his own personal harem
> 
> **thats_a_lotta_damage** : srsly, go back to your linkin park songs and stop talking shit about ranran
> 
> **xX_bL@Ck_D€4tH_Xx** : Fuck off you Flex Seal-sponsored brat
> 
> **Misakibestgirl** : Stop fighting
> 
> **CherryBlossomQueen** : ^^^
> 
> **thats_a_lotta_damage** : i heard saki and mitsu's parade would pass through our neighborhood
> 
> **Misakibestgirl** : Where and when
> 
> **thats_a_lotta_damage** : tomorrow, as usual
> 
> **thats_a_lotta_damage** : i'm not sure, i think anyone living in or near our neighborhood would have a chance to see it

The world is Danganronpa this, Danganronpa that. History just repeated itself; we went from gladiator fights to murder games on live TV. And I despise it more than everything in the world. This hatred was something I had to keep under wraps, let me tell you. Anyone who gets caught hating Danganronpa would face horrible consequences—especially if you're a teenager. There is a chance, albeit tiny, that Team Danganronpa would burst into your house and take you away faster than the FBI raiding a lolicon's house. You'll be brought to prison, but a different kind of prison: a Danganronpa season. A prison people are willing to get arrested for.

That's what I meant about being "forced into hiding."

Suddenly, someone from the floor below called with a voice so loud that it penetrates my headphones. He wasn't just "someone" though. He's my dad, Kagetaro Ouma, and he's currently on a day off his job.

"Kichi?" he asked.

"Yes, dad?" I said, pausing the music and taking off my headphones to hear clearly.

"Why do you have to always sound tired when you talk? Maybe you're just hungry, and I brought some food for that."

"The usual?" I scratched my head.

"Oh, yes."

"It's fine. I'm coming..."

After finishing up with my Fanta bottle, I threw it out of the window. I walked out of my room and observed the small hallway of the second floor. The design was a bit too futuristic for my taste, but it makes sense due to some technological marvels society has achieved up to this point. A Monokuma unit designed to be a vacuum cleaning machine scoured the area back and forth. With my mood soured thanks to looking at something that reminds me of my hatred, I inched closer toward the stairs and climbed down at a slow pace.

  
The staircase led me to my home's foyer, with the exit door across the stairs just a few steps away. To my left was a wall with a small window where the faint early afternoon sunlight pierces through like a sharp blade through a piece of paper. The said sunlight was slowly lessening in brightness, suggesting a cloudy sky. To my right was the living room.

The living room wasn't like an aftermath of a war compared to my room. The interior design was a blend of a cream white and light blue finish, which was a decent design choice if you asked me. A comfy blue sofa sat relaxed on the tiled sky blue floor, facing against my direction. A few meters behind the couch was a wall with a few windows. Across the couch's direction was a 55" Samsung television, capable of insanely vivid high-definition graphics. It was turned on and set to the Danganronpa channel, which was currently broadcasting a rerun of the "best Danganronpa season"—Danganronpa 25: A Poem of Despair. Judging from the screen, it's just the beginning. I stared at the TV and a bullet of anger grazed against my cheek, forming a cold grin on my face in response. I glanced at the couch's current customer, making me sigh out of frustration.

My dad noticed me walking towards the couch. He was a man in his early forties, though the small amount of work-induced wrinkles on his light-colored face may bamboozle someone attempting to guess his age. He wore pitch black jeans and a white shirt with an illustration of Misaki Amami—DR52 "protagonist" and survivor—investigating a crime scene together with Rantaro Amami and Mitsuyo Robin, both of which are also DR52 participants. It seemed to be strange of him to be on a day off, seeing as he's usually a workaholic clocking in lots of work hours for the fresh ¥¥¥. Impulsively, he analyzed the paper bags with a drawing of a girl in a jester outfit holding a mask in a tilted fashion as if to show her left eye. The drawn-over bags were labeled **Dee Ceptione's Bistro** —a place I instantly recognized. After a few seconds of searching the correct package of food, he handed one over to me. I thanked him for that.

Dee Ceptione's Bistro had a cult following in my country, even though the fast food chain wasn't of Japanese origin. Philippines deserved the credit for bringing the restaurant to the Land of the Rising Sun. Other than fast food, that country was relatively new to the political superpower scene, but it was prospering. It's totally not because a good chunk of Danganronpa winners have Filipino ancestry.

I swiftly dug my hand into the contents of the bag and felt something circular-shaped. _A burger,_ I thought. I snatched the food from the paper bag like a crane in a claw machine, revealing that my guess was right. Without even thinking, I unwrapped the burger and bit into it without even observing what kind of burger I got. A tangy mix of bacon, lettuce, tomato, cheese and patty tingled my taste buds. I sniffed the burger's intoxicating aroma, adding to the sensations. Suddenly, someone set off a wildfire inside my mouth. The burger was a trojan horse for a crazed arsonist. I blew a gust of wind from my mouth after swallowing the first bite.

Without minding the fact that I bit into a spicy burger, I slumped backward as if I'm passing out, with the couch catching me. I noticed Dad was holding a burger in his hand as well, with its aroma wafting through the air. He looked at me and thought for a second before talking.

"This is a bit sudden, but do you plan on joining Danganronpa V3?" he said.

My eyes widened. "Huh?"

"Yes. Danganronpa V3. They teased it about three or four years ago, didn't they?"

"You mean the continuation of the original Hope's Peak trilogy?"

"Well, yeah, Kichi. Glad you knew."

Kagetaro wiped his watch. The Team Danganronpa logo on it became more visible with every wipe. On the watch's edges were the engraved words **EMPLOYEE OF THE YEAR, 2093.** _Family secrets,_ I thought. Mom and Dad works for the evil empire, while their son secretly rebels against it.

I removed the checkered scarf from my neck to wipe the drops of sweat trickling on my face, which I blame the spicy burger for. The scarf was a memento—a memento from a friend that I haven't heard from for a long time since her family moved outta here before junior high. Memories, man. Memories. _Okay, Kokichi, this is no time for nostalgia land, dammit._

I almost forgot what my dad was asking. "What are you asking again?"

"Well, do you plan on joining a Danganronpa season?" He was looking at me with firm eyes.

 _What the hell?_ I thought. That was not the best time for him to ask me such a ridiculous question, especially since I have a secret hatred of what he worked for. For a brief moment, nothing escaped my lips.

"Uhh, Kichi?" My dad's chewing muffled his voice.

"I'm fine."

"So, do you have an answer?"

I lied. "I don't have plans to join Danganronpa right now, but I'd like to."

My dad chewed the last bites of his burger before continuing. "Well, assuming you changed your mind at some point... what would you like your character to be in Danganronpa?"

"Well, let's just say I'd love my character to be a prankster... who also has a knack for compulsive lying. He tries to misdirect and... confuse the other students with his deceptive tactics and... he's always one step ahead. However, he has good motives as well—except he tries to... achieve his goals with his... manipulative shenanigans."

I made up a character on the spot, and it didn't bode well. To be honest, I _didn't_ like this hypothetical alternate persona I'd wear if hypothetical DR fanboy me joined Danganronpa. Props to one of my teachers who taught me some creative writing skills in school, since if she didn't teach me how to write a character, I'd end up making a worse character than I already forced myself to create as a Get Out of Jail Free card for my dad's questions.

"Well, that's a pretty decent character you have there. In theory, he seems like to be on par with Nagito Komaeda," my dad said.

"Why do you even ask?"

"Just curious, son." He grinned smugly. "Maybe you seem suitable to join Danganronpa and even win it. You have the guts, jester." _Jester._ He was referring to my odd flowing hair with some resemblance to a jester hat.

"Well... thanks." That was a lie. Deep inside, I thought, _Dad, you're working for a mass genocide. And you want me to join the fun._

We chatted, with me trying to avoid Danganronpa talk as much as possible. If my parents or virtually _anyone_ knew I was a rebel, I'd be crushed by them harder than a hydraulic press.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarification(s): DR participants keep their past names most of the time, that's why Kokichi is still named Kokichi. Also, after debating it, I decided to make the beverage called as Fanta for the sake of realism.
> 
> Writing Pregame!Kokichi was as hard as it was fun. Having to write an alternate personality of a character that still has similarities or echoes with their known personality is a daunting task, ESPECIALLY with how Kokichi in the game is written. I did research on his personality, watched Weeby's analysis on him and tried to figure something out with the tiny tidbits of dialogue we see of Pregame!Kokichi in the prologue--and I came up with my own version of the jerkass we know and love: a timid high schooler who secretly hates Danganronpa and was forced to hide his hatred with lies and feigning just for his survival.
> 
> Starting this chapter, I will start alternating through POVs between Misaki and Kokichi a la The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (or basically any novel with POV alternation). By reading, you should easily figure out the POV and you won't be confused.
> 
> That's all, so stay tuned!
> 
> Oh, and join my Discord server! https://discord.gg/Z7ugA7x


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